300
by auspizien
Summary: Sparta AU During the Battle of Themopylae a soldier takes a moment to reflect on what was, what is, and what will come. (For MuffinGirlBethan.)


**A/N: For MuffinGirlBethan for getting 300 followers. She said 300, and I immediately needed to write Sparta!Zosan.**

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Even through the thick leather sole of his gladiator strapped shoes he could feel the sickeningly satisfying sludge of the muck beneath him. The normally dry earth made viscous by the uncountable number of the dead Persians that they had slain in pass of Themopylae. A rank odour of death hung in the air as there was little time to deal with the enemies corpses that littered the ground at their feet.

The blood which drained from their lifeless bodies fed the earth, making the mud in which they now fought on, knelt in as they continued to withstand the forces of the attacking Persians. Surrounded by three hundred men, keeping the phalanx position properly maintained, all he could taste on his tongue was the musk of heady sweat and the coppery tang of the blood of their enemies. A gratifying combination, and yet what he wouldn't give from a last breath of fresh Spartan air before this battle would come to a close.

Leonidas had promised them it was a suicide mission, and as they continued to remain vigilant against the Persians innumerable forces; it was clear that it was as he had foretold.

Though when he had left Sparta he had already signed his life away, known without a shadow of a doubt that his body belonged to the King. And that he would have no greater honour than to die fighting for not only his King, but his Kingdom and people.

Foolhardy in battle, and yet he couldn't stop the small twinge of regret the burned the centre of his chest as he knew that he had already spoken his last words to the other man. Known that it was the last time he would ever be held by him, and that soon – within the next passing hours – he would see that man slaughtered.

Eyes flickering over to the man near him – shield raised aggressively as they held off the barrage of never ending arrows from the Persians – though it allowed for them to rest within the safety of the shield dome. His broad arm flexed tightly as he kept the shield raised, his normally tanned skin awash with dirt and blood to the point where he was sure he couldn't detect even a trace of the man's usual skin tone.

The hard cuts and ridges of his Spartan toned body were shadowed to an even starker degree in the darkness of the dome, and the normally flawless molds of muscle were nicked and ripped in places where rouge arrows had caught him, or a spear had gotten a little too close.

Jaw clenched tightly, teeth bared as he seemed solely focused on the battle, though his body betraying his stoic features as the lower muscles in his torso trembled slightly with each breath. Toes clenching and unclenching in the mud as he too was most likely coming to terms with his inevitable demise. Hand in a white knuckled grip on his sword as the lines in his arm grew ever sharper, bicep bulking up with a sudden tenseness as an arrow nicked the side of his shield and just barely diverted.

And despite the seriousness of the battle, he couldn't help but watch the man and let his mind wander in these last few peaceful moments they had before they would need to attack once more. Mind drifting to a time when those hands weren't gripping a large shield and sword, but instead were upon him. Rough and calloused from years of torturous training and gripping him instead.

In the dark quarters of a fire lit room in the palace, those hands would be holding him from behind; grasping his hips in sweaty, desperate moves, or wrapping around him to cling tightly as pleasure became overwhelming. Always moving, never pausing, as though he was trying to memorize every inch of skin in case that night would be their last. His body slick with sweat and towering over him as as he was completely claimed by the man, those hands still touching him with reverent strokes.

Blinking away the images that had him nearly choking on the regret stinging at the back of his throat, eyes darting back up to the emerald haired man whom lowered his head. Seemingly taking a small moment to rest his eyes before Leonidas ordered for the attack.

Dark oak wood eyes opened and glanced up at him, a thousand emotions and words given through a single look as it was both an intense love ballad and heart wrenching farewell mixed into one. And he stared back just as desperately, trying to convey the emotions he felt; how the years they had had may have been short, but had been filled enough to feel like a lifetime.

A thick swallow to banish all painful reservations as he saw the determined hardness mask his lover's own eyes as the phalanx position began to fall away and they were making to launch themselves into their final glorious end. Painful past forgotten as the surge of battle burned strong in his veins, foot kicking out in the blood soaked earth as he launched himself forward.

Shield abreast and sword held high as he ran with his lover toward death, greeting the reaper with open arms; together.

~End~


End file.
